Miscellaneous Grindeldore
by NoClueKid
Summary: That's what the file is called on my desktop. A series of mostly oneshots concerning Grindelwald's rise to, and fall from, power. Goes along with The Untold Story, but for the most part you don't have to read one to understand the other.


(A/N: I'm beginning to wonder if I will ever again know life without Gellert Grindelwald living in my head. Also, Rien is not an OC, although he almost might as well be. Ten thousand points if you can guess who he is supposed to be, not sure how obvious I made it...)

.

Nicholas Flamel was not pleased.

His day had begun like any other day: He rose with the sun, kissed a still sleeping Perenelle on the forehead, and dressed.

On his way to the kitchen, he passed Rien, who was already up – assuming he had ever slept – staring out the window as though hypnotized.

"Good morning." Flamel greeted the boy half-heartedly, wondering if he would even get a response.

"We'll see." Rien responded vaguely. Flamel frowned as he continued on his way. Half the time it seemed as though his apprentice had more secrets than he himself did. Or, perhaps, the Rien was just not-quite-right in the head. He had cause to suspect both.

Breakfast was prepared by Brindille, his faithful house-elf, born of a line of elves which had served Flamel for generations. Then, with a full belly and cup of tea in hand, Flamel retired to his study for (what he has assumed to be at the time), another peaceful day of research and discovery.

.

He was disturbed sometime around nine-thirty, when a series of explosions erupted in the courtyard. Shortly thereafter, Perenelle came running in all of a panic.

"Nicholas, someone is –"

"Trying to break in; so I gathered. Do not fear, my darling. Even if they got this far, the stone lions guarding the gate will make short work of –"

At this point, there came another explosion, strong than any previously, and one wall of the library exploded in a flurry of wood splinters and dust. Flamel coughed, shielding his eyes. When the dust had begun to clear and he could see again, he found himself staring at the fractured head of a meticulously carved oriental-style lion.

"Perenelle? Perenelle, are you alright?"

"I'm here," came her somewhat muffled voice. It sounded as though a wall might have come down between them. "I'm not hurt." She added, and he felt the icy clutch of dread loosen on his heart.

The feeling was short lived, however. In the place where the wall should be, sun shone through the gaping hole which the lion head had made upon impact. Silhouetted in the gap was a shape, the shape of a man. He was very tall, with long, vividly auburn hair. In his hand was a wand.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Flamel," the intruder said in accented but fluent French. "Although I imagine the pleasure might be somewhat less on your part. I apologize for the nature of my arrival. It's not my intention to cause trouble."

Flamel blanched, anger suddenly competing with fear.

"Not your intention to cause trouble? Not _trouble? _What do you call this?" He managed finally, voice shrill in outrage. His study in shambles, his lions broken, his wife…well, certainly very frightened, if nothing else. And who even knew what had happened to Rien in all the commotion?

"Necessary measures." The intruder said quickly. "Were there any other means of contacting you, I would have gladly used them."

Something in the young man's voice seemed sincere, and it took Flamel's rage down a notch. He was still very angry, and still rather scared, but when one has lived as long as he has, they learn to take these things in stride.

"It's true I'm not the easiest to get into contact with." He stood, shakily brushing dust from the front of his robes. "And why should I, eh?" He scowled. "The world is full of people who want to use my hard-won knowledge for their own selfish ends. No one cares about discovery for its own sake anymore, none at all…"

"There may well be such people, for all you would know shut away in here, but that's beside the point. You say the world is full of those who would use your alchemy to their own ends. Well, someone is coming here with a mind to do just that. I came with the intention to warn you."

"And under any other circumstances, I'd say _thank you very much, it's not a problem!_ But as you have just smashed your way through all my defensive measures, I guess it's a problem now!"

"Your defensive measures would have availed nothing but to give you a false sense of security. If I can get through them, so can he."

"Who?"

.

The night was a cold one. Too cold, for springtime in France. Frost glistened on the leaves, blighting the summer flowers. Stars glimmered like ice crystals in a night that had become so hard and cold the air itself might have been frozen. As Albus Dumbledore's approach had been fire and explosions, Gellert Grindlewald was like a slow death by hypothermia.

Apparition was impossible of course; that was the first step of any protective measures worth the name, and he had been unable to do so within a five-mile radius – which, ironically enough, was how he had narrowed down Flamel's location down to that approximate spot.

Now that he had made his way here in the mundane way, on foot, he regarded a nondescript stone wall. It was protected, but he managed to break or bend the protections on it without a great amount of difficulty. It was merely tedious, the moon climbed through the dark heavens as he worked, and the night seemed to hold its breath.

The first wall was breeched, and now a pair of (had he known it) newly repaired stone lions circled him, a proudly crowned male and a sleek lioness, their jade eyes bright and full of predatory intellect.

"What manner of creatures are you then?" He muttered, as though expecting an answer. The only answer they made was to charge. The atmosphere which prevented apparition also impeded other means of enchanted motion – he was unable to render his body into a vapor-like substance, or levitate himself above their reach.

The only thing he could do was to throw himself out of their way, and this he did. They did not appear to be clumsy, as stone creatures often were, but their size and weight made them unable to change directions quickly once they had built up momentum. That was the only reason the first attack did not kill him.

He swore, and then shrouded himself in fog. That might work, unless they were endowed with the ability to hear and smell as well as see and –

Another charge, another near evasion. Apparently their hearing was quite sharp.

Figured.

He forced himself to think, as he ducked under a swipe that would have crushed his skull like an eggshell.

The method of defeating a golem generally lies in what it made of – it is easier to make golems of weaker materials; creating these stone monstrosities must have been a labor indeed. (Here, Albus had possessed the advantage, for the pair was carved from volcanic rock, and with the fire that was his specialty he had made them soft and easier broken.)

Gellert, on the other hand, was all frozen coldness, as though the chill of his native homeland had taken up permanent abode in him. One could almost say it was his nature, and it would not help him here. The only option to use against stone was some sort of acidic compound, and that would take more time than he had.

Other means, then. If he could not attack the substance of which they were made, try disrupting the enchantments that gave it the semblance of life. Unfortunately, the ones animating these were of surpassing skill and subtlety. He could have broken them, but not quickly, nor while simultaneously preventing them from killing him.

As it was, he traded ineffectual disenchantments with equally ineffective charges and pounces. However, they were succeeding in keeping him away from the second wall, and _they _would not get tired.

"Very well." He said, throwing himself aside at the last second to avoid another lunge. He landed in a crouch, like a cat himself. "If I cannot make you more like stone, I shall make you more like beasts."

He applied his magic to the stone creatures a second time. Now, instead of breaking or unraveling the magic on them, he sought to further it, to entwine it with his own and extend it beyond its original measure.

Changing their structure or their basic nature would have taken either more power or more time than he had. Fine, stone lions they would remain, but the instincts and mannerisms of lions projected onto them were extended father. They were still golems, created and bound by the will of their creator. However, for the first time in their existence, they didn't feel like it.

They noticed that there was an intruder, that they were _supposed _to do something about it, and yet…it was such a pathetic, flimsy little creature. As a meal, flesh did not appeal to creatures of stone any more than stone appeals to creatures of flesh.

The lions also noticed themselves, that they were lions, and noticed each other: the only other lions and creatures of stone that they had ever seen before. And, not surprisingly, little fleshy intruders that posed no threat to them, didn't seem nearly as interesting as they themselves.

Gellert smirked as he turned towards the second gate, now unheeded by its erstwhile guardians. Onward he continued, into the heart of the haven. What barriers and protections he could not destroy, he turned in on themselves, turned inside out and upside down, until the magic's own caster hardly recognized his work.

.

"He is…" Began Flamel, watching through the eyes of the many birds in his courtyard, which he could use as spies if he so chose.

"I know." Albus responds in Flamel's voice. _Believe me, I know. _"Now, sir, I believe it is time for you to take your leave."

"I want to stay." Rien said quietly. "I wish to see him."

"Very well. It's your life."

.

Gellert marveled when he reached the innermost courtyard. His cold could not penetrate here, due to enchantments that held the weather steady. No, in Flamel's innermost sanctuary, it was always tender spring or mild summer. The air was warm enough that the skin did not shy away from it, yet cool enough that it did not encroach like an unwelcome suitor. It carried the scent of some flower whose name he thought he had known once.

The architecture was made of warm-hued sandstone, and though deserted, it was alive with the sound and motion of water. Fountains gushed serenely, flowing down in silver trails to calm pools where white petals gathered and floated.

A lovely place, one well-worth spending eternal life.

The thought made him feel tired; the peaceful atmosphere was, in a strange way, more troubling to him than the hostility he had expected.

He turned his attention to the final set of doors. He expected these to be guarded by yet another set of complicated enchantments for him to break or bend; however, much to his surprise and slight apprehension, the doors swung inward at the touch of his hand, not even a mundane latch to keep out the night.

He entered with caution, expecting and prepared to be ambushed from all directions the moment he crossed the threshold. Again he was surprised when his way went unchallenged.

The doors opened into a hallway, lit from glowing spheres that hovered near the ceiling, drifting languidly as though floating in water. The magic lights showed the inside to be as irritatingly luxurious as the outside. It was made of handsomely carved light brown wood, with ornate carpets and wall-hangings provided contrast. They depicted lovingly detailed scenes of interest: there, a herd of wild horses surged over a hill, there, Greco-Roman devotees performed orgiastic rituals of some kind in a grove of olive trees. All the images were moving, of course, and often woven with threads of gold and adorned with precious gems. He was no appraiser of antiques, but he was relatively certain that the rug he walked on was probably worth more than the house in which he had grown up.

A number of treasures or oddities too numerous and miraculous to describe were displayed in alcoves along the walls like a museum – except that one didn't generally have to battle their way in to view objects in a museum.

It angered him. This place, and others like it, this was where knowledge came to die – for what did it do, what was the point of it, sequestered away in here? Flamel was brilliant, or so they said, but to Gellert's mind, brilliance is only worth as much as the good which it did.

He followed the hallway in the direction it seemed to be going, until he came to a door that was partly ajar and revealed light inside. It opened to reveal…a kitchen, of all places. It was well-built and well stalked, but less grand than the entryway had been. It smelled like baked goods, like savory spices – like home, to anyone who had known such a thing.

Strange place, to entertain a guest, but that was what Flamel seemed to be doing. At the table sat a dark-haired man who seemed old and yet, upon closer inspection did not look it. Behind him stood a young boy with ashen-pale hair and wide, light gray eyes.

"Are you Nicholas Flamel?" Gellert addressed the older man.

"That depends on whose asking."

He raised his wand. "In however much time you live past this moment, you will find that I am singularly unappreciative of witty remarks."

"Easy, lad. I only meant to ask your name."

"My name is none of your concern. You have something I want."

"From your seeming dislike of me, I assume you're not interested in learning my ways. Something more tangible, then, that you desire?"

"The means of your eternal life. What is your secret?"

"Surely a gifted young wizard such as yourself will have heard of the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Surely a gifted young wizard such as myself knows better than to believe everything he hears. Show me this stone; I am not one to take a stranger at their word."

"I don't expect you to trust me, and yet how can I trust that you don't intend to steal what you say you wish to only see?"

"If my intentions were merely theft, I wouldn't bother with requests." He brandished his wand once more. "Now, you can either show me the stone, or I will look for it myself, and kill _every last thing_ that gets in my way, starting with you, and then your son or apprentice or whoever he is." He nodded at Rien.

"As you wish."

He picked up a simple stick of charcoal that had sat on the table and with it delineated a simple yet elegant protection circle on the table, something that would prevent an object, once placed inside of it, from being removed by anyone save the one who had placed it there. Inside of the first circle, he formed a second one, more complex this time.

Then, with a word, the stone appeared in its center. He had not summoned it, it materialized on the spot. The second circle was a transposition circle. Somewhere, a sister-circle had previously been formed, and with the activation of the second circle, whatever object had been placed inside the first could be moved interchangeably back and forth between them.

"You had some inclination I was coming then." Gellert remarked, for why else prepare such a theft-proof method of viewing?

"I suspected, yes."

He approached the table, leaning down and reaching into the circle. It did not prevent him from interacting with the object therein, merely from removing it. Upon the stone, he performed a number of alchemical tests and probing that would take advanced knowledge of that field to understand. Dull and convoluted to those who would not know them, little less so for those who did.

As he looked at the stone, its rosy light made his face look warmer, less pale and grim. But the light reflected in his eyes made them look red. It was a visual which would return to haunt he who saw it, when dealing with another young dark wizard with similar goals.

Flamel tensed. This was it. Gellert would try and shatter the protection circle – such things could be done – he would attempt to make a grab for the stone and then –

"_Shiesser_." He turned away.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What," he looked over his shoulder at Flamel. "After all your years you don't understand German cuss words?"

"…It's not what I would expect to hear from a person who has just beheld the Philosopher's Stone."

"This…this thing is not what I wanted." He turned to fully face Flamel. "I ought to have known it from the start; a man like you could never be death's master. You only run and hide."

"After coming all the way here, with all your power, does the secret of eternal life hold no appeal for you?"

"Perhaps if my life were like yours, I would wish to extend it." The look with which he Flamel could have frozen the earth's core. "In your haven, with your books and your beloved, not a care as to what happens beyond your walls. It does say something about the state of the world, that the only life worth living is the life of a coward."

The silence was deep and heavy. Outside, strange sounds could be heard, stone grating against stone and deep yowls from gravely throats.

"You will," Gellert said at length, "at some point, be expected to use your talent for the greater good, rather than waste it up here in idleness, but not yet. You may have your coward's paradise for a while longer."

Then he turned on his heel and was gone, leaving 'Flamel' to stare at the space he had occupied.

"What the hell was that?" Demanded the real Flamel, entering at once from a door on the left. "After breaking in here, doing…unspeakable things with my golems, you're going to let him go?"

"Were we to fight, everyone around us would certainly be killed." Replied the other Flamel. "He would not hold back, nor could I if I hoped to win."

He got to his – rather, to Flamel's – feet, because suddenly he couldn't stand to be there a moment longer. As he passed through the house, Nicholas Flamel receded from him like a wave falling back into the sea. He might have regretted it at another time; who knew what could be discovered. If nothing else, he could have tested to see if the qualities of immortality which imbued Flamel carried over through polyjuce potion. At the moment, though, he couldn't bring himself to be curious. With a word, his clothing changed with his body, and then he was just Albus again.

.

Outside, dawn was cool and blue on the horizon. He paused for a moment to watch the stone lions couple with detached curiosity. It only brought him sadness, though, for it made him think of his own mate, to whom he had just been so close and yet unable to touch, to even acknowledge…

He wondered what would happen to them – the lions. Surely a creature that has tasted a night of sentience would not deign to return to an unfeeling servant of another's will. They would probably have to be destroyed. He pitied them, and yet envied them a little.

If another will was to free him sorcererously from the binding duties of humanity that kept him on this path – morality, ethics, the love for and sorrow for his family – if his nature was altered, as the golem-lions had been, he undoubtedly would have pressed Gellert down on the flagstones and done exactly as the lions were doing. He wouldn't regret it, if it meant his destruction, even as things currently stood he hardly cared about his own life, what was left of it.

No. It wasn't his power to alter what he was, nor would he do so willingly, the condition of being a thing generally implying that you want to continue to be that thing. He was who and what he was, and this was the path he was on.

"My master bid me offer you a room, in exchange for what you did for him." Rien's voice said from somewhere behind him.

"What did I do?" Albus asked. "He never came with the intention to steal the stone."

He turned to find that he spoke to an empty courtyard. Rien was gone.

.

(A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated. I primarily want to know if people are interested in reading this. Just a simple, 'yes, please carry on' would be enough. You can even copy and paste it from here. Thank you for reading.)


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